Because of the obvious, I didn't have access to internet until now, so here's the first post I wrote from a Starbucks yesterday late afternoon...

I am seriously starting to find the fact OG and French Guy always call on the same day, at the same time of the day, a weird coincidence. It must be some kind of bad karma I keep draging around.

I went to Covent Garden with Liz for drinks and set up the details of THE party this Saturday ( she had to leave early for a flat-visiting emergency - Why does everyone I know seem to be homeless/sofa-surfing in London? Must be something wrong with the living conditions and the exhorbitant prices... But that's not the point.)

OG called first, from somewhere with hardly any connexion (airport terminal, maybe?).
We got cut and I didn't bother return his call. He is leaving, right? End of the chapter.
I just wish it would leave me unmoved...

Five minutes later, it was French Guy's turn.
I felt bad and didn't want to pick up. But I did.
Surely, if you are a well-brought up girl, if you have spent the last twenty-four hours obcessing over a guy's arseholeness, you don't plan drinks followed by a fuck-fest with another one the following evening?
Well, apparently, I am not that well-brought up girl, (Damn, I knew it...), and figured out that another night spent in front of DVDs, eating another jar of nutella by myself, wouldn't do me any good. Except, maybe, give me cellulitis: Ouch.

So, I am on my way to Angel. Carpe Diem after all.




This morning's post

Being in a public place with your date, gently put your hand on his knee, or slowly lean across the table over your two martinis to exchange a sweet kiss...
There's an amazing feeling to it.

Especially (at the risk of sounding pretentious...) when people around look at you, and you know they are thinking that you two make a very attractive couple....
It gives you that sort of social recognition you'll only ever get in couple, and it feels good. Even if I'd like to have a world or two with the one who established that convention; why do you automatically get better consideration as soon as you are part of a couple?

Anyway, yes, that was me and French Guy yesterday night in Angel, kissing over martinis... We had a great time talking about pretty much everything, and, before I knew it, four hours had passed.
We went back to his place, he introduced me to his flatmate, we shared a few joints in front of Comedy1, and ended the night - of course - fooling around in his bedroom.

Maybe the weed was a bad idea, because he lost it, several times... And I found myself becoming way too lazy, hence decided against resuscitating him with my mouth for the third time (it worked wonders the two first times), and happily dozed off to sleep, which was very welcome, since I tend to be quite insomniac recently...
He more than made up for it this morning, though.

I was still stupidly grinning to myself while walking Oxford Street this morning, immersed in my very own debate, whether we could eventually make a relashionship out of it, when my phone rang. Again.


Convinced it would be French Guy, as he always calls after I left, generally to wish me "bon voyage", I put on my sexiest voice (at least as sexy as it can get before coffee) and picked up without checking who was calling:

"Hello?
-Lilith, it's OG.
-W H A T ? ? ?
-It's OG.
-Yeah, I know. Wait! I didn't say "what", I said "wait"! Err, wait, I need a cigarette. And I didn't have my coffee yet, so if you have even a desapproving thought, I'll hung up!
-...ok...
(it took me less than two milliseconds to lit one)
-OK, I'm done. So, what did you call me for? In which bloody country are you anyway?
-I'm at the airport, Heathrow...
-... "
(long silent drag on my cigarette, secretly hoping the lung cancer would finish me off on the spot)
The lying bastard had told me he was leaving YESTERDAY!

So I let him talk, talk and talk, punctuating his words with a few "uhuh..", while trying to make everything stop spinning in front of me.
And did he talk... Saying that whole bunch of bullshit about how the only thing he really wanted to do before leaving was seeing me, how great he thought I was, how much he was going to miss me, that, if I wanted, he'd fly back for the week-end from wherever in Eastern Europe just to see me in two-weeks time, and begged me to try my best (the fucking "best" again) to be in London from the 10th of December on, as he would come home for Christmas...
To which, even if I chose not to spend Christmas home for the past three years, I still retorted I had a family, too.

What was he doing? Bloody liar. The only answer I could find to all of this was "Yep, cool, whatever. Take care and good luck."

If I wasn't messed up before, I certainly am now.

I think I am going to treat myslef with a new vibrator. Now, vibrators, they're great!
*They don't mess up with your head.
*They're not selfish (it's all about my pleasure).
*They don't increase my consumption of illegal substances.
*They don't "loose it". (well, it depends of the kind of batteries)
*They don't lie.
*They surely don't pretend to be something they're not.
*They don't call you at the wrong moment.
*They don't move abroad.
*They don't take pleasure in messing you around.

I wish us a very long merry relashionship together!